


Clash

by Lucterna



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blood, F/M, Face-Fucking, Fighting Kink, Vaginal Sex, underground fight au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 18:04:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1314139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucterna/pseuds/Lucterna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At an underground fight, your ex tries to start shit with your new boyfriend, Niall, who's not about to back down from a challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clash

The raucous bleating of the crowd is nothing new and by now you’re used to ignoring it as you snuggle into the soft cream colored sweater your boyfriend is wearing.  He smells of the musky cologne you got him for his birthday and you can feel the hard press of muscle beneath the sweater.  His hand tightens on yours as the two men in the makeshift ring grapple harder.  The fighting excites him and when he whips his head towards you, he’s grinning fiercely, eyes a crystalline blue, cheeks flushed scarlet in stark contrast.  You find yourself grinning madly in return, thinking of the way those thick fingers currently entwined with yours will end up knuckle deep inside you or fisted tightly in your hair while you’re on your knees for him.

A shudder ripples through you at the same time that a shout of triumph escapes his throat.

In the ring, the larger of the two men has the other in a headlock, jerking on his grasp so hard you can practically see the smaller man’s eyes rolling around in his head.  The larger is a wall of solid, olive complected muscle.  He bears a black eye from a fight earlier in the night and there are myriad scars running the length of the rest of his body.  Obviously made for this brutal sport, it’s no wonder he’s your boyfriend’s prized fighter.  He hasn’t lost a fight yet.

This particular circuit isn’t new to you either, in fact, you’d been dating one of the brawlers when you caught Niall Horan’s eye.  No one really knew how the young Irishman made his money - you still don’t - but all that mattered was he had it and he knew how to bet it.  Even then, Barbarossa was his man, a permanent fixture on the payroll.  Your idiot ex boyfriend made the mistake of taking him on when he noticed that Niall had taken an interest in you.

It was an outdated, chauvinistic gesture, but, well, you don’t date losers.  And while you might have started out a prize, it wasn’t hard for the two of you to get wrapped up in each other.  As you snuggle in closer against him, his hand slips out of yours only to wiggle in between your back and the hard metal of the chair.  Absently, his fingers stroke your side, before deliberately skimming up under your arm, touching along the curve of your breast where no one can see.  You shiver at his touch, all the while your eyes on the men in the ring.  

As Barbarossa grinds the tenderized face of his opponent into his knee, Niall’s grasp on you tightens, his other hand fisting as he calls out something you can’t quite catch.  When he’s excited, his accent gets all the thicker, and he talks so fast all you can do is appreciate the sound of his voice.  Fingertips now digging into the soft underside of your breast, you’re just trying to concentrate on the match, squeezing your thighs together and telling yourself it’s silly to keep getting so worked up over the simplest of touches.  But Niall knows all about what he’s doing to you, and even though he’s talking animatedly with the man to his right - a man nearly twice his senior and dressed like he stepped out of a corporate meeting - he’s slowly running those pressing fingers down your side until they can slip in to touch at the flesh between the hem of your shirt and the waist of your skirt.

“Niall,” you mumble, almost a warning.  While you crave his touch more than anything, it doesn’t always take much to work the crowd around you into a different kind of frenzy.  

He turns to look at you again, that same mad gleam in his eyes.  “Babe,” he says, tilting his head at you with a little quirk of his brows.  Before you can protest again, his mouth is on yours and that hand is all the way down the back of your skirt, cupping bottom through the thin, lacy panties you’d put on just for him.  

The crowd is practically silent to your ears, the sounds of Barbarossa and his current punching bag so far in the distance as to be gone altogether.  Niall’s lips are plush and wet against yours and he plunders right into your mouth until you’re groaning softly and struggling for breath.

Your face is hot and crimson when he pulls away, lips dark and swollen.  Tenderly he places them just under your earlobe, but rather than kiss you, he whispers, “I’m gonna fuck t’at delicious mout’ a yours real good when we get home n’ yer gonna sit so pretty on your knees for me while I do it, aren’t ya?”

Breath hitching audibly in your throat, you squeeze your legs together harder.  “Yes,” you breathe, just loud enough for him to hear.

He nuzzles the spot now, before sucking the lobe of your ear in between his lips and teeth, tongue running along the curve once and then letting it go.  “Dat’s my good girl.  And after t’at, yer gonna leave those shoes on while I fuck ya into our brand new mattress.”

This time it’s not even a word on your lips, just the softest of whimpers as your core pulses with the heat of his words.  Niall already knows his way well enough around your body, but after a good match?  You’re practically tingling with anticipation.  His fingers massage into the bare skin of your bottom, then he slips his hand out, reaching up to trace his middle finger across your lips.  Even with the frenzied crowd around you, you know what he wants, and you temporarily suck the tip of the digit into your mouth.

Niall leans away completely now, mouth curved in a smirk.  You try your hardest to ignore the warmth growing between your legs, bringing with it an obvious dampness.  As he shifts to start talking to the older man beside him again, his hand comes down on your thigh, stroking it in a way that’s supposed to appear absent, but you know exactly what he’s doing.  Swallowing, you lay your hand on his to stop it from gravitating up underneath your skirt, and in turn he digs his fingers hard enough into the flesh to make you whine.  Goosebumps flash across your skin like wildfire.

From the tattered ring there’s the clamor of a bell, signifying the end of the match.  Barbarossa is swaying on his feet, bloodied, but the feral grin on his face as his opponent lies unconscious at his feet is more telling than the “referee” shouting out his name.

Without warning, Niall is on his feet, hand ripped away from yours as he claps and whoops ferociously.  You wobble a little to your own feet, flushed and wet as you try to clap like nothing’s amiss.  His arm soon slides possessively around your back, and you obediently follow after him, the buckles on your thigh high gladiator heels no longer cool against your skin.  The two of you eventually meet up with a greasy looking man who doesn’t seem too eager to part with the wad of cash he hands your gloating boyfriend.  Obviously Niall doesn’t care, letting go of you just enough to fill his billfold with it.  When it’s safely tucked back into his pocket, his arm is on you again, tucking you into his side as his lips find your ear again, breath hot along your already heated skin as he nibbles on it and then straightens up.

Your heart is racing, but you’ve noticed that Niall’s steps are speeding up.  If you can just make it to the car, maybe you can ask real nice and he’ll use his hand on you, ease the ache a little before the two of you get home.  You’re already imagining three of those fingers sinking into you, stretching you out, the initial cool touch of the huge silver ring on his middle finger, when you hear a familiar voice.

“Yeah, you take that money and run, coward.”

It’s like a flush of cold water in your veins, especially as Niall tenses up against you.  His hand fists momentarily in the side of your blouse and you know he’s recognized the voice as well.  Just as he begins to turn, you attempt to pull him forward with his grip on you.  

“C’mon, baby,” you plead softly.  With a kittenish nuzzle to his shoulder, you murmur, “C’mon, I want you to take me home and fuck me real good, please…”

Niall is still rigid and he turns just so to look at you, a devilish smirk on his handsome face.  “Oh, don’t you worry about that, babe,” his voice is low, rough, “I’m gonna do just dat.” And with that he turns to face your ex boyfriend, Will.

You want to tell Will to get lost, but you know it’ll do as much good as trying to make Niall walk away.

“Ya wanna run dat by me again?”

Will is maybe half the size of Barbarossa, but still obviously built to do damage.  Once upon a time, those burgeoning muscles of his had really lit your candle, but now… He grins ferally at Niall’s demand.  “You heard me, pussy.  Takin’ your money and running off after you get someone else to do your dirty work for you.  Just like you did wit’ my girl.  Couldn’t get her on your own.”

 

Niall bristles at the new namecalling, lips pulling back from his teeth.  “Yet I’m t’ one still fuckin’ ‘er.”  Despite the show of tempers, you’re just relieved when Niall seems to turn.  Maybe the two of you can get out of here.

“I don’t see how - Can you even get it up to fuck her?  Bet your dick’s as soft as the rest of you looks.”

One moment Niall’s hand is at your elbow, the other he’s using both to push up the sleeves of his sweater, storming back through the dissipating crowd.  Startled by the oncoming blond, your ex probably doesn’t see the white knuckled fist that smashes into his face either.  There’s a collective gasp from unexpected onlookers - not out of surprise really, but the sudden rush of impending violence.  Some pause to watch, others simply keep on their way.

Will staggers a couple of feet, almost going down on his knees.  You know it’s sheer force of will that keeps him on his feet.  Niall punched the shit out of him - not something you’ve ever seen him do before.

“You cock-suckin’ son of a bitch!” Will snarls.

Niall’s face is set in determination, obviously anticipating a counter.  In this - unlike anything else - Will doesn’t disappoint.  As the crowd gives them a wide berth, some even stopping just out of the way to gawk, Will rushes Niall.  They collide explosively in a tangle of limbs you can’t entirely make out.  Niall gets Will’s head in the crook of his arm, tight enough to choke.  In quick succession, his free fist sinks again and again into Will’s abdomen.

By now, the crowd is thickening.  Despite it being common knowledge that you belong to one of the men fighting, you’re almost pushed aside.  When you struggle through the hot, tight press of bodies again, you find Niall on the ground.  Will sits astride him, fists wailing on him.  Niall throws up arms and elbows to block, the latter knocking your ex in the jaw a time or two, though he can’t fend off every single blow.  Still, it’s a matter of seconds before Niall’s on top.  While Will has taken to shouting profanities, Niall is absolutely silent.  He takes your ex’s head in his hands and smashes it one good time against the grimy concrete beneath them.  With a shriek, Will begins bucking and thrashing, but Niall pins him down resolutely, clenched hands raining down.  You’re pretty sure Will’s going to have a permanent indent from that ring.  Niall’s motions are ruthless, precise, nothing like the rabid, haphazard flailing coming out of Will.  They go rolling at one point, bowling into the feet of the crowd.

It feels like your whole body is vibrating.  On the one hand, you don’t entirely enjoy the man you’re head over heels for brawling with your blockheaded ex.  On the other, watching him hold his own like this?  You’re starting to feel the throb and tingle between your legs again.

In the end, nose bloody and knuckles split, Niall stands over Will, who’s clutching his bleeding face with both bruised hands.  As you stand there nearly panting, Niall unravels his sleeves and wipes the crimson leaking from his nose into the soft cashmere.  Then he calmly steps over the cursing, spitting Will to make his way to you.

His voice is thick as he says, “C’mon,” taking you by the elbow and leading you out.

Underneath a dirty streetlamp, Niall’s brand new Aston Martin still manages to gleam, silver and perfect.  You’ve always had a thing for classic cars, but your boyfriend’s instilled an appreciation in you for the newer generations with this beauty.  As you close in on it, you can’t help thinking of the time he’d backed you up against the spoiler and dropped to his knees, cleaning you out fiercely with his mouth as you writhed against the car’s cool body.  You force your thoughts away from that to watch his bloodied hand close around the driver’s side door handle, pulling it open and motioning you in.

You know better than to ask if he’s okay, and if he’s sure that he’d like you to drive, but you can’t help the look of uncertainty that crosses your face.

His bottom lip is noticeably busted when he grins at you, eyes still alight like blue sparks.  “Just dis once,” he teases, “Wanna save me strength til we get home now…”

A little shiver ripples through you and you smirk just so, “Alright then.” You slip into the car, feeling the cool leather through too hot clothing, goosebumps prickling up along the backs of your bare knees and down your arms.

Niall settles into the passenger seat, handing over the key, which dangles from a silly plastic four-leaf clover keychain.  When you asked where it had come from, he’d given you a vague, “Gift from me mum,” and that was that.  Now you just take it, feeling and hearing the car purr to life around you.  It isn’t long before you’re out on the open road, and as you merge onto the highway, Niall presses the button that’ll let the Vanquish’s top roll down.  Cool night air whips through your tethered hair and you can’t help glancing at your boyfriend, as he lets out a hard sound and leans back in his seat.

“I’ll clean you up when we get home, baby,” you promise.

With the feel of the car running underneath you and the wind snaking along your body, you almost miss the creep of Niall’s hand along your thigh.  But it’s warm and large and before you can even glance over at him, it’s slipped up your skirt to rub at you through your panties.  You jerk a little, and the car takes a slight swerve to the right.  Foot heavier on the gas pedal, you don’t stop him like you had at the fight.  Even with the sight of the scarlet splashed across his knuckles.  He shifts in his seat, leaning enough over the console that he can slip two calloused fingers past the damp crotch of your panties.  You both hiss as he feels the wet center of you, though his breath leaves him again in smug chuckles while yours stays stuck in your throat as he runs those hard fingertips along your slit.

“If I’d known you’d be this hot after I pounded dat asshole int’ t’ floor, I’d have done it sooner.” His voice is right there, vibrating against your ear, almost lost in the wind but not before it drives a shudder all the way down your spine to your throbbing clit. His fingers stroke upward, coming up to circle your clit and you hear him cursing, but can’t make out the words between the rush of air and the pounding of your heart in your ears.

As you try to keep your eyes on the road and your hands steady on the wheel, Niall continues to stroke you, until you’re panting and your knuckles are white, foot so heavy on the accelerator that you’re a reckless thirty miles over the speed limit.  Before your orgasm can overtake you though, he pulls away, settling right back into his seat as if nothing’s happened while the leather seat is slick and hot underneath you.  You almost miss the exit.

“What’s t’ matter, babe?” he asks, and your heavy lidded eyes find his, dark with lust and amusement.  

“Niall,” you whine softly, but you can’t stare at him, you have to concentrate on the road.  

When you finally make it to his home, a mountain of a house overlooking a lake big enough to boat on, the two of you rush inside.  Your back hits the door with a jolt, Niall using the momentum to slam it closed as his hips grind into yours.  Rough hands cup your jaw and he kisses you hard enough to bruise, lips tasting of copper and sweat.  Your fists are clenched in his stained cashmere sweater and it’s only the blood on his lips that reminds you he needs a different sort of TLC first.  You push him away and though he doesn’t quite budge at first, he seems to remember his own state and backs away, both of you breathing raggedly.

“How’m I supposed to wait when you’re fuckin’ drippin’ for me,” he growls, but you follow his stalking figure to the bathroom.  

It takes little time to clean him off - most of the crimson splash doesn’t even seem to be his - and his nose isn’t broken, bleeding already stopped.  You carefully clean his hands and wrap the split knuckles, before dabbing gently at his busted lip.  He strips off the ruined sweater, leaving it on the bathroom floor as the two of you filter out. After a pitstop in the kitchen for a bottled beer, which he holds against a developing shiner around his left eye, he pulls you with him into the living room.

 

You don’t even make it to the couch before he’s crowding you again, dragging your body back against his, bare chest warm against the back of your blouse.  Teeth on the back of your neck, his hands run down your hips and bunch in the hem of your skirt before lifting it up around them.  One hand finds its way back into your panties, fingers sinking between your lips and rubbing you hard.  Through the slick material of his slacks, you can feel his cock rigidly against your backside and as he toys with your clit, his hips rut at yours.  It’s like he never stopped touching you in the car, and you pant raggedly as you bow up against him.  

You’re close, so fucking close, when he spins you around, fingers wet on your skin.  Any whine of protest you might have made is cut off by his mouth, his kiss all lips and teeth and tongue like he might devour you whole where you stand.  Your knees are weak and trembling, heat pooling in your gut and pulling taut.  When he starts to push you down, you brush open mouth kisses along his collar and the hard lines of his chest, sucking one nipple into your mouth temporarily to the sound of his groaning.  He stops you, like he’s forgotten something, and without warning, his hands tug at the lapels of your shirt and several top buttons pop, pinging off to points unknown as the material parts to reveal the matching black and pink lace bra beneath.  Niall’s mouth stretches in a feral grin as he sees it; it’s his favorite set after all.  Then he’s undoing his belt buckle, pushing his pants open and you sink obediently to your knees.

Gently you bat his hands away so that you can reach into those charcoal colored slacks and draw out his hard, weeping cock yourself.  He’s just long and thick enough to make your mouth and nethers water with anticipation, absolutely perfect.  You know he doesn’t like it when you play too long, but you can’t resist just lapping at him, tasting the salt of his skin and the dribble of precum at the tip.  Niall’s already threading his hands through your hair, pulling it back from your face, tugging a little to make you taste more of him.

“Don’ fuckin’ tease me,” he rasps, and you flick your eyes up to meet his.  The baby blue seems gone, his pupils are blown so wide already and you can’t help grinning, holding his gaze as you part your lips to finally swallow all of him down.  His teeth sink into his bottom lip as he watches you, and despite his fingers tangled in your hair, pulling just shy of painful at your scalp, you move your head back and forth, sucking around him in a mime of much more intimate places.  “Oh, fuck, dat’s it, just… fuck, your mout’ is amazin’, dunno what’s better, dat or you-” he pauses to gasp for breath as your tongue swipes along the slit at the end, and your hand slips up his thigh to find his balls in his pants.  “Oh, fuck or your… fuck, your sweet little cunt.”

And with that he’s pulling your head back, giving you a second to breathe and swallow the moisture collected in your mouth.  Eyes nearly black, he watches you lick your lips once and wait oh so sweetly, so patiently for what he wants to do next.  You watch the indecision flit across his face, before he’s prying your mouth open with his fingers and thrusting his hard length between your lips again.  Of course, you can’t help gagging as the tip sinks into the back of your throat, but you know it’s all the sweeter for him that way, and you breathe through it, moaning as he holds you by the hair, his grasp tight, all the nerves in your scalp tingling.  Unintelligible, but certainly filthy, words tumble out his mouth as he fucks your face and you know the moment when it’s too much, know the tightening of his muscles as easily as your own.  Still, you’re surprised when he doesn’t let himself finish, the sudden absence of his hands in your hair and the sting in your throat sending shivers and gooseflesh down every other inch of your skin.  

Hot, hard breaths puff in and out of him as he leaves you sitting there on your knees, confused until you see him swiping off the coffee table, the unopened beer and remotes and coasters sliding into the floor with a clatter.  

“Niall?” you venture huskily.

“C’mere,” he demands, and given the height of the table, you don’t bother to stand, scooting over on your knees.  When you’re close, he tugs you to him, still hanging out of his pants as his mouth claims yours, easily dominating the gesture while he tugs your shirt off the rest of the way.  His hands sink into your bra, drawing both breasts out at the same time and he kneads them hard before dipping his head to bite down your neck and then take one hard nipple into his mouth to suckle at.  

You’re putty in his hands, mewling his name at each nick of his teeth or the hot swipes of his tongue.  Hell, you’re not surprised, just hot and wet and willing when he bends you over the coffee table, tugging down your panties and spreading your thighs to push his cock in from behind.  The glass tabletop is cold and unyielding against your front as he begins to move, hips coming hard against yours.  He’s bowed all the way over your back, his chest slick with sweat as he grips the table with one hand and wraps the other arm around your waist.  He’s not so much sliding in and out as just hard and deep, knocking against all the best nerve endings.  All the while his mouth is on your neck and jaw and ear, and he tells you how good you feel stretched taut around him, how, “I’m gonna fuck ya hard enough t’ come out th’ ot’er end,” and all you can do is keen for him, because you know he’d never really go hard enough to hurt you, at least not in a way you wouldn’t enjoy.

When the hand at your belly slips down so that his fingers find your clit yet again, there’s no way you can hold off any longer. It only takes a few swipes of his fingertips to have you sobbing his name as you come, muscles clamping down on him and milking out his own orgasm.  He gasps and groans brokenly at the back of your neck as his thrusts sputter and then finally you’re both still, just hanging over the table and trying to catch your breath, bodies shuddering against each other.  

After rolling into the floor to stretch out on his back, Niall watches you sit haphazardly back on your bottom.  Your eyes meet again, and neither of you can stifle heated, sated grins.  Niall’s hand manages to hit the beer he’d tossed aside earlier, and though it comes to a bit of a head when he pops it open, he offers you the dripping bottle with a hoarse, “Share?”

Breathy laughter escapes you as you accept the cold drink.  “Gladly,” you say, just before tipping your head back to savor it.


End file.
